You'd Think High School Would Be Less Chaotic
by Kairikiani
Summary: When Malkuth High burns down, the students at Kimlasca High must share classrooms with their rivals. Can the student review board keep the peace, or will everyone be forced to go to *GASP* military school?
1. The New Kid

Author's Note: Well, here you are, reading another high school fanfic. Surprisingly, there aren't many ones about Tales of the Abyss, or at least not as many as I expected there to be. I hope mine can be a little different than your average high school story (Read as: having some semblance of a plot.). The characters are as "in character" as they can be for an AU story, although to prevent the reader from screaming at the screen, I've skipped over Luke's brat phase and have given him a "pre-story haircut." 

As always, you should review. In fact, I'm so desperate for critique on my writing that I'll even welcome flames. The more reviews I get, the more likely I am to post chapters before summer break, so just click the little button at the bottom of the screen and let me know that someone's actually reading my stuff. Please?

P.S. Since this story is AU (alternate universe), any spoilers shouldn't be too glaringly obvious. As long as you know who each character really is, you should be fine.

* * *

The way she was looking at him was unbearable. If he could, he would run back into the house and lock the door, just to get away from those eyes. She had always watched him with such adoration, always smiling, forever proud. But in rare times like these, her eyes became tinted with sadness, and he felt horrible for making her face even a shade less bright. She never yelled or scolded him, but the disappointment shook him more than any words she could say. 

Her forehead crinkled in worry as she sighed. "Luke, sweetie, why aren't you smiling?"

"Should I be?" Luke took the opportunity to quickly pry his damp collar from the back of his neck. It was way too hot out to be taking pictures.

"Why of course! It's your first day of school! Everyone's happy when their first day of school comes around; it's part of growing up."

"Mom, I'm seventeen, not five. I mean, is this really necessary?" Luke gestured behind him to the signs fighting for space on his front lawn. They were staked into the ground in immaculately spaced lines, like gaudy white tombstones. Only instead of having dates and names written on them, rainbow letters spelled out phrases like "Off to School" and "I'm A Big Boy Now". 

Luke doubted any self-respecting kindergartner would pose with these signs, much less a teenager like himself. Worse, his mother insisted that the pictures be taken in front of the house, in broad daylight. The only good part of the situation was that it was early in the morning, about the time any sane people would be waking up. If he finished really quickly, maybe he could clean up the yard and run back inside before anybody saw him.

Mrs. Von Fabre lifted her hand to her mouth and giggled into it. "Ah, yes. I realize that the signs are perhaps a little young for you, but it was the only back-to-school kit that the store had. And even though you're seventeen, it's still your first day of school, after all."

Luke heard Ramdas cough politely behind the camera. "Actually, m'aam, Kimlasca High began its term a week ago. Technically-"

"Oh, all right. The two of you, I swear. Maybe this isn't the typical time to celebrate the beginning of Luke's education, but it's my only chance! You can't do things like this when you're home schooling a child. But since it's the first time my baby is going to a public school, I want a little souvenir. That isn't too much to ask, is it?" She turned towards Ramdas and gave him her best begging face, asking him silently for just one more picture, just one, pretty please?

The servant sighed. "Very well, m'aam. But if we take much longer, Master Luke will be late.

Susanne von Fabre flashed a radiant smile of gratitude. "All right, in that case, Luke, if you could hold your backpack up, I want to try a few more poses before you go. It'll just take a minute…"

Ramdas silently mouthed a sorry to Luke and crouched behind the camera once more. Luke flashed a grin at him. _Oh well, at least you tried. _He then forced his sore jaw to stretch into a smile for what he knew would last a lot longer than a few minutes.


	2. Two Strange Girls

Author's Note: I apologize in advance for spending so much time on the first week of school, but that's when Luke meets most of the characters, the plot is set up, etc. At least it will be an interesting week. I also apologize for my updating schedule. Not all of the updates will be this quick: I binge-write, so my chapters will be long but spaced out. If I don't update for a long time, it's because I am busy, not because I've quit. At least summer is close at hand. Anyway, I thank everyone who was kind enough to review, and I hope you enjoy the second chapter.

Disclaimer: I do own Tales of the Abyss. It sits patiently near my Playstation 2 waiting to be played. I do not, however, own any intellectual rights to the game. There, I said it.

* * *

There are few situations in this world that are as awkward as being a new student that's arrived to their first class fifteen minutes late. Five minutes is okay: you could always just say that you were receiving last-minute instructions from the principal, or messing with your locker. That's about when the stragglers showed up to class anyway, so you wouldn't attract too much attention. Ten minutes is better: then you could give the teacher the "I've never been here and I got really lost" spiel, and by then the teacher would be too far into the lesson to interrupt the class with the typical "let's ask the new kid a bunch of pointless questions that we'll forget the answers to tomorrow" interview. You might even get sympathy points, depending on how nice the teacher is. After fifteen minutes though, you've lost your chance. The teacher knows that the principal wouldn't keep you this late without sending a note, and you can't use the "lost my way" excuse unless you want to look like a complete idiot. No matter what you do, you end up looking like either a trouble-maker or a dunce. This then prompts the teacher to give you a painfully wide smile and say the horribly clichéd line, "Well, isn't it nice of you to join us, Mr. Fabre?"

Any students that missed the squealing of the class door now turned around to stare at Luke. "You're the new student, yes?" asked the small balding man at the front of the class.

_No, I'm a regular student here. I just decided not to show up until a week after classes started. _Luke swallowed the sarcastic comment before it could get him into worse trouble and muttered a "yeah."

The teacher took off his glasses and rubbed them against his dirty cardigan. "Well, Mr. Fabre, my name is Mr. Spinoza, and I'll be your teacher for Precalculus. Right now we're working on group worksheets, so if you'll kindly join Miss Tear over in the corner. She's also a new student here, so maybe you can help each other out while-

"Uh, Mr. Spinoza?" The class refocused its attention on a blond girl about eighteen. Or rather, the head of the blond girl of eighteen, since she was apparently too nervous to open the door any wider than her head could fit through.

"Miss Noelle, I'm in the middle of a class."

"Yes, I know, but it's Van. He says he needs to talk to you. Something urgent."

"Mr. Van? Oh, in that case-" Mr. Spinoza hastily shoved his glasses onto his nose and turned to his students. "Class, if you'll please excuse me, I have some important business to take care of. Just keep working in your groups until I get back. Lead the way, Noelle." With that, the math teacher shuffled after the student, letting the door squeak to a close.

While the class was distracted, Luke had taken the chance to sneak into his seat. Once the coast was clear, he turned to look at his new partner. She obviously hadn't heard Mr. Spinoza leave, as she was still staring intently at the worksheet, tuning out both Luke and the fact that she had a strand of her mousy brown hair in her mouth. Luke watched her chew on her hair for a minute, and then decided to give her a hint by faking a cough. The girl ripped herself from her trance and hastily composed herself.

Luke gave her a little wave. "Hey. My name's Luke. I just joined the class."

The girl grabbed his still waving hand and gave him a brief but military handshake. "Tear. Tear Grants."

"Your name's Tear? Like somebody's crying, that kind of 'Tear'?" _Seriously, who would name their kid that?_

The only movement Luke could see in Tear's stone-set face was a tiny shift in her gaze. "N-no. It's short for Mystearica."

"Mystearica…" he echoed. As in mysterious? Did she seriously think he was stupid enough to fall for that kind of joke? Whatever, he's play along. Luke put on a friendly grin. "Right. I'm guessing your Mom's the type of person who likes to stand out from the crowd." _As opposed to her daughter, who looks like she'd be at home in the army. "_Do you guys fight a lot?" He asked.

Her eyes snapped back to mirror his. If her face was stone before, it was granite now. "My mother's dead."

"What?! Oh, wow, I…I'm really sorry, I didn't know. Um…" Luke decided to change the subject as quickly as possible. "Well, at least you still have your dad to-"

"He's dead too."

Luke stared at his worksheet. Was there any topic that wasn't booby-trapped? He decided that his best shot was to pretend that the awkward silence wasn't there and just do his work. That plan worked for about five minutes, until Luke realized that he had no idea what the word "radians" meant. He'd have to try to start another, safer conversation. He fake-coughed again. "So…I hear you're a new student. Where'd you go before you came here?"

Pause. "I was a freshman at Qliphoth Academy. It closed down over the summer due to a lack of students, so I transferred here."

If Luke remembered correctly, Qliphoth Academy was a state-owned military school in downtown Aldrant. Most of the kids who went there couldn't afford to buy textbooks and supplies for public schools. Their parents shipped them off to boarding school to learn how to kill people, and in return the government provided education, room, and board. Everybody was happy. Except for the kids, of course. Which explained a lot about how his partner got to be so uptight. _Geez, only a sophomore and she's already been in uniform._ He blinked. "Wait…you're a sophomore?"

The poor girl nodded. "Qliphoth Academy had an accelerated curriculum in the math and sciences. I took advanced Algebra last year, so Precalculus would be the next logical step."

"You took advanced Algebra as a freshman? Man, even I haven't had that yet." Luke groaned. _Oh great, I get the kid genius. I'm going to look like an idiot next to her._

"You didn't take Algebra last year? Really? What class did you take, Trigonometry or advanced Geometry?"

"Ummm…Math?" All of the awkwardness from the last ten minutes floated tauntingly in the air between the two students. Luke felt his eyes sink back to the worksheet in defeat. "This is going to be a long year, isn't it?"

"At least you've figured out that much."

* * *

Luke could not get into English class fast enough. As soon as he saw room 201, he practically leapt inside the room, only to crash into the unfortunate student inside. Luckily few students were in the room at the time, so there were a minimum number of witnesses of the two falling gracefully on their behinds.

The two garbled apologies at each other and frantically picked up their things. Luke managed to quickly get his textbooks under one arm, and then handed the girl a light pink daily planner. She muttered a 'thanks' as she reached for the book, and then her hand froze in mid-grab. Luke looked up to see the girl studying his face. At first Luke thought that he must have a zit on his forehead, but then the girl's astonished face thawed into a surprise-party smile.

"Asch?! Is it really you?" she asked incredulously. She stared at him as if she wasn't quite sure if he were real or simply a figment of her imagination. After a few seconds, she determined that he was, in fact, real, and began to barrage him with questions. "Where have you been? You left so suddenly, and you never wrote or called or anything. Why did you leave? What happened? How did you get back here? How long have you been in Aldrant? Oh my gosh, I haven't seen you in so long! Are you staying? I-"

The girl was shooting him with so many questions that Luke began to lose track. They just kept pouring out of her, without any space in between for an answer, so that the girl's pale face was literally taking on a slightly bluish tinge from a lack of oxygen. For his sake as well as the girl's, Luke interrupted her. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

The girl's mouth snapped shut like a puppet's, and she gazed at him with the same look that a child has when its mother has said a dirty word. The color slowly escaped from her face, embarrassed for its owner. She had the air of an actor whose partner has just said the wrong line during a performance, and who had to lead him back to the script with a thinly veiled ad-lib. "Don't you recognize me? I know it's been a while, but I shouldn't look that different," she said. She waited for an answer, and then decided to lob him another hint. "It's me, Natalia."

Luke stared at the girl kneeling before him. She was unusually pretty, one of those girls who knew enough about make-up to make you forget that she was wearing any. She had short blond curls, a small rounded face, and a preppy shirt with matching skirt, purse, and shoes. But in spite of the girlish look she wore, she appeared to be slightly taller and older than Luke. These details made Luke absolutely sure that he had never seen her before in his life, because any girl that his mother had ever introduced to him had either been at least four years older than him, four years younger than him, or gifted with the personality and looks of a mannequin.

"Um, look. I think you have me confused with someone else. My name is Luke. Luke von Fabre."

She blinked. "Luke _von Fabre_?" she gasped. "I didn't know Asch had a twin!"

Luke paused. "We're not twins."

"Brothers?"

"No. Not brothers."

"Cousins?"

"Nope. I don't know anybody by that name."

Natalia looked away for a moment, deeply troubled. She looked back and asked apologetically, "Are you sure you're not cousins?"

"I think I'd know if I had a cousin named _Asch._"

Natalia stood up quickly and daintily brushed off her skirt in an effort to regain some composure. "Oh…I'm really sorry. You just look so much like him, I was sure that-" she trailed off in a melancholy daze. Luke pushed himself off of the ground, and then Natalia shook herself out of her reverie. She grabbed his hand and shook it enthusiastically. "Anyway, it is very nice to meet you, Luke. My name is Natalia Lanvaldear, and I'm student body president. If you have any questions about Kimlasca High, please don't hesitate to ask," she said hastily. With pleasantries exchanged, she then allowed herself to run towards her desk at the far end of the room, where she privately replayed the scene in her head in an effort to pinpoint where she went wrong.


	3. History of a Grudge

Luke quietly slipped into the nearest seat and dropped his books on the left side of the desk. He felt his shirt snag, probably on one of the cheap rivets for these stupid desks. He gave it a tug and then opened his book. He wanted to make a good impression on this teacher. He felt something give two sharp pulls to his shirt, accompanied by a soft hissing sound. Luke rotated his head around one hundred and eighty degrees.

Sitting in the chair behind him was a lanky student wearing an oversized teeshirt advertising some kind of soft drink. Fine, blond hair sprawled every which way on his head. He had the kind of manic energy of someone who couldn't wait to start his day long enough to comb his hair or eat breakfast, someone who just walked out the door in whatever he had gone to bed in. His pupils raced back and forth across his eyes, and when he was satisfied that no one was listening, he leaned in and whispered, "Psssst. Were you just talking to _Natalia Lanvaldear_?"

What was this, some sort of quiz to see if the new kid could remember names? "Yeesss."

"Dude! How did you do it?"

Luke paused to try to think up a sane answer to an insane question. "I…opened my mouth and made it form words."

The mystery student's leg started to shake up and down with excitement, making both his desk and Luke's vibrate. "You're talking 'bout it like it was no big deal. You've been here what, two hours? And already you've got it made with the most popular girl in school! Man, you must be some kind of popularity _god_ where you're from."

"She's the student president and the most popular girl in school?" Luke asked incredulously.

"Dude, she's everything! She's student body president, head cheerleader, honors student, the principal's daughter, last year's homecoming queen- "

"Okay, okay, I get it. She doesn't sleep. One of those little Miss Perfects," Luke interrupted. He didn't really want to listen to a long list of some random girl's accomplishments. Plus, the guy's surfer/hippie drawl was really getting on his nerves. The fact that he only appeared to know two slang words, "dude" and "man", didn't help either.

"Exactly, man! She's like every guy's dream girl! I can't think of a single guy in the school who hasn't had a crush on her at one point or another, even among us seniors," he confided, leaning in conspiratorially.

Luke made a mental note reminding himself never to ask Natalia out on a date. The last thing he wanted was for the school's male population to have a grudge against him. "So, uh, who's her boyfriend now?" Luke asked. He might have to write that note in bold ink, depending on how big the guy was.

The mystery student sighed. "Nobody. A ton of guys have asked her, but as far as I know she's turned them all down. She says she's 'waiting', whatever that means."

"Really? That's kind of weird. Maybe-" Luke did a double-take. "Wait, you're a senior?"

"Yep. Name's Ginji Volant," he chirped, thrusting out his open palm for Luke to shake.

Luke reached out hesitantly, and then Ginji grabbed his hand and shook it senseless. "Luke von Fabre."

"Fabre? Oh, cool, are you related to Asch?"

"No," he answered, slipping his hand from Ginji's death grip. He massaged his fingers with his other hand, trying to get the blood flowing back in his fingertips. Luke decided that he needed to change the subject before their conversation turned into a replay of his interrogation with Natalia. "But if you're a senior, why are you in Junior English?"

"Oh, heh heh. Well, I didn't do so hot in this class last year, so the school says I have to take it again," the boy confessed.

"Is this class really that hard?" Luke questioned. The air around him became damp and heavy with dread.

"Ohhh yeah. Ms. Cecille might be young but she is definitely no pushover. You'll definitely have to study for this class," he chuckled. Ginji then spotted the look on Luke's face. "Oh, but she's not one of those crabby teachers, she's just strict, that's all. As long as you do your work you'll be fine," he backtracked. "Plus, I'm really bad at English."

"Ms. Cecille…that's a weird last name."

Ginji shook his head. "It's not her last name; it's her first. She's cool like that."

Suddenly the door opened, and the teacher in question strolled into the class. Strolling in this case looked a lot like walking, except that it had a bit more pizzazz and a "just you try it" attitude on the side. Much to Luke's relief, Ms. Cecille seemed to fall into the 'young and hip' teacher category, letting her students float a while in small talk before drowning them in the text. Listening to the students talk to her about lunch menus and metaphors, Luke realized that they really did feel comfortable calling Ms. Cecille by her first name, almost as if she was just another student. Luke thought that she looked more like a clothes model than a teacher. She probably could have been one if it weren't for the fact that she had the chalk-white hair of an old woman. Luke would have to ask Ginji for the story behind that later.

Five minutes before the class ended, Ms. Cecille snapped her book shut, leaned forward on her elbows and gave each of her students a searching stare. "So who's going to the Malkuth match Thursday night?" She threw the question out to the class, sending ripples of excited tension among the students. Hands all around Luke shot up into the air, but Luke failed to notice since he was too busy trying to imagine what kind of sport 'Malkuth' was. After five uncomfortable seconds Luke felt the collective accusing gaze of the class land on him, silently asking "And why aren't you going?"

Ginji gently poked Luke in the back. "Dude, what's wrong? You got a funeral to go to or something?"

"Uh…no, but-"

"Don't you want to support the school, Luke?" asked Natalia from the far corner of the classroom.

"Yeah, but…I don't know how to play."

The students around him murmured in confusion. Ms. Cecille interrupted them with a wave of her hand, and said, "Luke, Malkuth isn't a sport, it's a school. Our _rival _school."

Luke stared blankly back at his teacher. He had heard of people being rivals, or cliques, or sports teams, but entire schools?

"I suppose since you're new here you'll probably need a brief history lesson. You see, the school's founder, Marcus Lanvaldear, was one of the first people to live in Aldrant. His dream was to become a martial arts teacher, and since Aldrant was a new town with not much else to do, he figured that it would be an excellent place to set up his dojo. For a while he was very prosperous, and all of the townspeople sent their children there to learn the town's most popular sport. He loved the dojo so much that he added its name to his own and started calling himself Marcus Kimlasca-Lanvaldear

However, his best friend Lyle Peony went behind his back and set up another dojo called Malkuth. Malkuth drew away customers with promises of lower fees and a more 'modern' teaching style. The students that couldn't cut it at Kimlasca switched to the Malkuth dojo, and soon the two dojos were equal in size and strength. Finally Lanvaldear had had enough, and he politely asked Peony to move his dojo to another town, since there was only enough business in Aldrant for one dojo. Peony refused: although he agreed that Aldrant only needed one dojo, he claimed that just because Lanvaldear had built his first didn't mean that Kimlasca should be the one to stay.

Since Peony would not listen to logic, Lanvaldear challenged his dojo to a martial arts tournament: the winner would stay in Aldrant, and the loser would leave without complaint. Peony agreed. However, the tournament ended in a tie. The two men decided to make whoever stayed in Aldrant win two out of three tournaments, then three out of five, and on and on. Yet no matter how often they fought, there was never a clear winner.

Time passed and the town grew. Eventually public education became mandatory. Since most of the children went to the dojos every day anyway, the Lanvaldear and Peony families decided to transform their dojos into schools. The rivalry expanded to academic matters and such, but the main form of competition is still martial arts tournaments, such as the one on Thursday."

Once she finished her explanation, Ms. Cecille leaned back and raised her eyebrow to give him an inquisitive look. For a moment Luke thought that she was asking him if he understood, but then he saw what she was really after. He nodded. "Yeah, of course I'll go to the game."

The students around him sighed a collective breath of relief. Ms. Cecille smiled. "Good. The tournament will be in the gym at seven o'clock Thursday night. I'm not assigning homework that night, so there's no excuse for any of you not to come," she said. The school bell, with its impeccable timing, chose that exact moment to ring, signaling the end of class.

Luke felt a finger prod his back. He turned around to see Ginji smiling. "So, what did you think?"

"Uh…well, I've never seen a teacher that, um, into school sports."

Ginji smiled. "Yeah, she's the coach for the cheerleading squad, so she kind of has to be. Plus, I hear she has a grudge against the Malkuth English teacher. Apparently they were both English majors at the same college, and he just barely beat her in getting named valedictorian."

Luke sighed in relief. "Okay, so she's the only one who really takes this Malkuth thing seriously."

Ginji blinked. "Dude," he chuckled, "she's one of the _sane_ people." He then picked up his papers and walked towards the door, laughing all the way.

After English was study hall, quickly followed by the yearbook class. Luke, of course, was the only junior there, since yearbook was one of the few art classes freshmen could take. Sitting in a class of people two years younger than him, listening to them rage about how they were going to drive Malkuth into the ground this year, Luke realized that it would be a long time before he got used to life at Kimlasca High.

* * *

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Oh, and Hoshizora no Hikari, I love long reviews, the longer the better.

Again, forgive me if the plot is going a little slow, but I have to introduce everyone first. Coming up next: Guy, Noelle, and Asch, closely followed by Jade and Frings. Don't worry, Anise and Ion are coming soon.


	4. Lunch is for Gossip, Not Food

The fourth chapter! Finally! Starting with this chapter, I'm posting a theme song for a character at the beginning of each chapter. One of my reviewers did mention background music for the characters, but I actually had this idea before they emailed me, so I'm going to be evil and say that it was my idea all along, because technically it was.

Ginji's theme song: "Living in the Sunlight, Loving in the Moonlight". Yes, the way I portray him could probably be considered out of character. However, you see him so little in the game that you hardly get any look into his personality. I figure that since he crashes so much that he has an off-kilter personality, so I took the liberty of…amplifying it a little.

* * *

A student's popularity is directly related to the number of people sitting at his lunch table. If there are only one or two people, he is probably a geek, and those people are the only friends he has. If there are three to five people, then he is more likely a loner: many self-proclaimed outcasts like to travel in groups in order to assert their individuality on the masses. If the table is full, then he's just part of a normal clique, sitting with the same rectangle of friends week after week. And if the table is so crowded that people are pulling up extra chairs in order to sit there, then that guy's got it made.

At the moment, Luke had a whopping zero people at his table. Actually, he didn't even have a table; he was still wandering the lunch hall looking for an empty chair. The only person he recognized was Tear, but she was currently sitting at a full table with a gaggle of giggling sophomores. As he slithered through clusters of students eating their noodles and rubbery meats, Luke wasn't sure which feeling was more awkward: when people stared at the freak who was going to have to eat his lunch standing up, or when they didn't even look up.

Finally Luke spotted his salvation: a near-empty table at the far corner of the lunch hall. Only one student was sitting at it, a tall blond boy who looked slightly older than Luke. He was wearing a baggy sports t-shirt under a faded leather jacket as well as some black jeans. His boots had so many scuff marks that they looked as if they had been carved with a knife made out of grey chalk. He looked suspiciously like a walk-on in a modern day version of West Side Story. Considering pop culture's obsession with gangster culture, Luke guessed his outfit would have looked pretty fashionable, except that the jacket looked more 'old' than 'vintage', and the bottom of the guy's jeans looked like they had been used to placate an angry cat.

But then again, Luke wasn't really there to judge the guy's fashion sense. As long as he let Luke sit at his table, Luke didn't care what he wore. He began to make his way towards the table when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Luke turned around and saw Ginji carrying a plate full of pineapple chunks and noodles.

"Luke, man, you don't want to sit over there. That Guy is bad news. C'mon, sit with us; our table's right over here," he said while dragging Luke to a table near the back of the lunch room. Sitting at the table was the blond girl who had interrupted Luke's math class earlier this morning. Ginji and Luke sat down across from her, and she smiled at them. "Luke, this is my twin sis Noelle. Noelle, meet the new kid."

Noelle stuck out her hand for Luke to shake. "Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Noelle Volant." Luke grabbed it hesitantly, and she gave it a single firm shake. Evidently Ginji's sister was a little more in tune with social norms than Ginji was.

"Luke. Luke von Fabre."

"Oh, are you related to-"

"No," Luke answered preemptively. Such a definitive answer killed the conversation, and Luke knew it was his duty to revive it. "So…um, are you two really twins? You don't really look alike." Noelle stared at him slackjawed for an uncomfortable five seconds. Luke realized that it was probably very bad manners to question someone's twinhood and immediately began to apologize when Noelle suddenly slammed her fork into the table.

"THANK YOU! I think you're the first person who's ever said that. Everybody else just blathers on and on about how they can barely tell us apart. They tell me that I look like him," she ranted, pointing a finger at her brother.

"Hey! What's wrong with the way I look?"

"Nothing. But you're a guy, Ginji." She leaned in until her face was about ten inches from the boys'. "Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be confused for a member of the opposite gender?"

Luke and Ginji shook their heads. "No, nobody's mistaken me for a girl yet," answered Ginji.

"Lucky little…" she muttered. She wrenched her fork out of the wood and began hacking her wilted green beans with it. By the time the beans had become an unrecognizable green pulp, Noelle had calmed down. "So what were you guys jabbering about before my rant?" she asked, her cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment.

"Oh, I was just rescuing Luke here from sitting at Guy's table," said Ginji, putting a friendly but unwelcome arm around Luke's shoulders.

Noelle looked up. "Oh, don't go near him, Luke. He's a creep."

Luke sneaked a look back at the boy in question, sitting alone in the corner of the lunch room, shunned by all. "What did he do that was so bad?" he wondered aloud.

Ginji smirked. "He snubbed Noelle when she asked him out."

"Ginji!" she hissed at him. "He's exaggerating, Luke. I did not ask Guy out," she insisted, desperate for him to believe her.

Luke turned to Ginji, who shrugged Noelle's comment off. "Asking him out, giving him a valentine, it's the same thing."

Luke's head swiveled to get Noelle's side of the story. Noelle began to focus on cutting her slab of meat-like substance into tiny pieces. "I was in middle school, okay? I was into the bad boy thing. Look, can you talk a little quieter please? I don't want anyone overhearing and getting the wrong idea."

"So…" Luke began, only to receive a harsh glare from the other side of the table. He tried again. "So what happened?" he whispered.

"Well, it was Valentine's Day in seventh grade, and everybody was exchanging cards-" whispered Ginji.

"I can tell it thank you very much!" Noelle hissed. "Anyway, it's Valentine's Day in seventh grade. Everybody's in the halls giving each other candy and such. After I hand most of my cards out, I see Guy sulking in the corner of an empty hallway and I feel sorry for him. So I sneak up on him from behind and give him a big mushy hug and I-"

"You sneaked up on him to give him a hug?" asked Luke.

"I wanted to let him know I was there so I could give him my card."

"But couldn't you have just tapped him on the shoulder or said his name or something?"

She shook her head. "Hugs are more romantic. Besides, I wanted to surprise him. Just tapping his shoulder would have been too awkward."

Ginji snorted. "So you tackled him instead."

"Look, it's just what seventh grade girls do, all right? Can I continue the story, please?" The boys nodded.

"So anyway, I wish him a happy Valentine's Day. Only instead of thanking me, he freaks out and throws me off his back, screaming at me to get off of him. I fell against the water fountain and got this nasty scratch on my shoulder. I still have the scar and everything," she complained, massaging her left shoulder with her right hand.

Luke snuck another look at the student in question, sitting alone and picking through his lunch. He honestly didn't look like the violent type, but Luke knew better than to judge people by their looks. "So then what happened?"

"Well, I yell out and most of the class comes over to look. Some teachers come and ask me what happened, and I tell them that I had slipped and fallen against the water fountain. Then Ginji walks me to the nurse, I get a bandage, and that's that."

"You told them that you slipped?" Luke asked.

"Well, by the time the teachers had arrived Guy had run off to who-knows-where, so even if I had told them the truth, I couldn't prove anything. Besides, I wasn't about to tell the whole class about how I had gotten rejected on Valentine's Day."

"And man, he never even apologized," Ginji added. The blond shook his head. "I don't care who you are or what century we're in, no man has the right to hurt a girl. That's just bad manners. I said it then and I'll say it now, somebody should teach him a lesson," he pouted, trying to look as mad as he could.

Noelle rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure. Because you were so eager to put up your dukes to defend your sister's honor."

"Hey, I didn't say that it had to be me! Man, if I tried to fight him, I'd be lucky to last twenty seconds."

Luke blinked, his interest peaked. "Is he good at martial arts?"

"Yeah. I hear he's a brawler for the Phoenix Clan. They're one of the toughest gangs around. I hear that for one of the initiation rituals they have you write your name in blood on-"

"Ginji, you've got your story wrong," Noelle interrupted. "The Phoenix Clan is stationed way up in Kethelburg. They don't have any members here. Guy works for the Sword and Shield, not the Phoenix Clan."

"How could he work for the Sword and Shield? That's an all girls gang."

"Really? Well, whatever," answered Noelle, shaking her head. "The point, Luke, is that Guy is in some gang, even if we can't remember which one."

"So…uh, how do you know he's in a gang?"

"Besides the way that he's dressed?"

"Oooh, oooh, Noelle, let me tell him, let me tell him!" Ginji chattered, waving his arms enthusiastically. "Okay Luke, not a lot of people know that Guy was involved in this, but I've got a source on the street," he assured his friend while making a poor imitation of a rapper. "Astor's my homie, see, and he was there when-"

Noelle coughed. "Astor…the comic book vendor?"

Ginji's eyes flickered slightly under the fluorescent lunchroom light. "…yes…" he admitted, avoiding Luke's inquisitive gaze. "B-but he sells video games too! And not just the kid stuff. He's got some deep adult material, like Angels of the Underworld and Zombie Nation III. Plus, his shop is downtown, so he's still a good source!" he cried, looking over to see if Luke believed him. When Luke failed to say anything sarcastic, Ginji assumed that he had regained his street cred and continued.

"So apparently last year the Phoenix Clan had mugged one of the Black Dream's members, which had really ticked the Black Dream off, and-"

"The Black Dream? Who're they?" inquired Luke.

"They're a gang from Malkuth," explained Noelle.

"Malkuth? Wait, their school has its own gang?"

Noelle rolled her eyes. "Luke, why are you surprised? It's Malkuth. The school naturally attracts people like that."

"People like what?"

Noelle stared. "Luke, haven't you ever come across a gang before?" He shook his head. "Have you seen one in action while you were downtown?"

"I've never been downtown."

She sighed. "Well then…have you ever seen a movie with a gang in it?" Luke paused to think. He nodded. "Okay, well, you know how in the beginning of action movies, the hero comes across a bunch of thugs who are beating somebody up, and then the hero kicks their butts so the audience knows that he's the good guy? Well, the Black Dream are those thugs. Except they know how to fight, and they'll only beat you up if you don't pay the toll."

"The toll?"

"Yeah. The Black Dream sets up checkpoints along the side streets down town. In order to cross the checkpoint, you have to pay the guards. If you don't have the money, they beat you up."

"So ANYWAY," continued Ginji, who was trying to make up for the break in his story with volume, "after the Phoenix Clan mugged one of their members, the Black Dream was really mad. So their top three members challenged the Phoenix Clan's top three members to a fight in order to avenge their friend. Except when the Phoenix Clan fighters showed up at the meeting place, they found the Black Dream members all beat up in the alleyway. They were in such a sorry state that the Phoenix Clan called off the showdown and actually offered to drive them to the hospital," Ginji chuckled.

Noelle continued in her brother's place. "The Black Dream found the defeat so humiliating that they were forced to demote their own senior members in order to distance themselves from it. They didn't even set up checkpoints for three weeks because they were afraid that no one would take them seriously enough to pay."

"Yeah, the incident was bad for them, but great for Kimlasca. Kind of a revenge for all the times that they had beaten us up, you know?" Ginji added.

"I guess, but what does this have to do with Guy?" Luke asked.

"Well, like I said before, Astor's shop is downtown; his place was right by the alley. Anyway, when I asked him about it, he said that just before the Phoenix Clan arrived he heard a commotion outside his shop. Before he could go and check it out, he saw Guy run like hell out of the alleyway and out into the street. Five minutes later, the Phoenix Clan arrived and the Black Dream members were found beat up in the alleyway," explained Ginji.

"Wait…you're saying that Guy took on all three of the toughest members in Malkuth's gang by himself, and he won? And then he just ran off and left them there?" Luke asked incredulously. The twins nodded. "But...why?"

"Isn't it obvious? Guy must have known about the fight beforehand and decided to ambush the Black Dream," said Ginji.

"But…um…why?" Luke repeated.

"Because the Phoenix Clan told him to! They needed him to soften the Black Dream up before the big fight so that their people could win, only he did such a good job that he won all by himself," stated Ginji.

"I thought you said that he wasn't part of the Phoenix Clan."

"Oh, right. Well, then he probably just had a bone to pick with the Black Dream. Maybe his gang has a rivalry with the Black Dream too, and they made an alliance with the Phoenix Clan. Or maybe the Phoenix Clan hired him for a short term job, or-"

"Hired him for a short term job…like…a mercenary?" Luke asked.

"Yeah! Like a mercenary!" he agreed.

Luke took one last look back at the student in question. "A high school mercenary," he echoed. Did Ginji ever listen to the things he said or did he just talk without thinking?

Noelle slapped herself in the forehead. "Ginji…"

"What?"

She sighed, embarrassed on her twin's behalf. She turned to look with Luke at the 'mercenary'. She explained, "Look, Luke, it doesn't matter which gang Guy's in or why he fights. The point is that he's a bad influence. Nothing good can come from being friendly with someone like him."

* * *

Poor Guy. So misunderstood. Normally I wouldn't go near the whole "bad boy" stereotype, except that there aren't any slaves in this day and age. I had to find a way to lower his social status, so I decided to give him a bad reputation. As for Noelle, well, there are going to be multiple pairings. I'm not going to say which ones will win in the end, because part of the story is figuring that out.

Next up for introductions are Van and … a mysterious stranger that you will probably all recognize from his screen name. Then Jade and Frings. Just in case you were wondering, the three members of the Black Dream are Noir and her entourage. We'll see more of them later.

P.S. Hoshizora no Hikari-Thank you so much for your last review. I loved it so much that I actually saved it on my computer. I was really stressed out the day I read it, so it really cheered me up. Please, ramble on to your heart's content.

P.S.S. I live for reviews. All reviewers get cookies. Imaginary cookies, but they have a great imaginary taste.


	5. Luke's Favorite Class

Author's Note: Hi! Sorry it's been so long since I've posted. Let's just say I've been busy. Since this chapter is turning out to be so long, I'm posting it in two parts. I promised myself that I'd post at least once over break, so I'll post the first part now, and the second part whenever I finish the last scene.

Guy's theme song: "Pretty Girls Make Me Nervous" by Simon and Milo. I thought it fit him because of his…condition.

* * *

After Lunch came Ancient History, taught by a withered old man named McGovern. He seemed nice enough, although he had a penchant for going off on tangents: one minute he'd be expounding on the judicial system of Greece, and the next thing Luke knew, the conversation had turned to rising gas prices and he wouldn't have a clue how it got there. Next was Biology, although since Ms. Roneal was on maternity leave, a substitute was teaching, so Luke didn't know who his science teacher would be for the rest of the year. And finally, there was PE.

Even though the PE uniform was a clashing combination of red and gold that few teenagers would ever willingly wear in public, and the class was forced to sit on an uncomfortably cold hard wood floor as they waited for their teacher, as Luke melded into the fringe of the group, he felt confident and happy. PE, he knew, was one of the few classes he wouldn't have to worry about when the teachers handed out report cards. In PE, there were no formulas to learn or essays to write: all you needed to succeed was a will to work hard and a bit of athletic talent. And after obsessively practicing martial arts since childhood, Luke knew that he had plenty of both. Despite his mother's constant fretting about her precious son getting overly fatigued or even a scratched knee, Luke loved his private tae kwon do lessons. They had been his connection to the outside world before she had allowed him to go to school, and after practicing for so long, Luke had actually gotten pretty good. So in this class at least, Luke looked forward to being the genius rather than the dunce. What was even better though, was that right now, wearing the same stupid outfit and staring at the same dirty white wall as everyone else, Luke felt for the first time that day like just another student at just another normal school.

Then he recognized someone. To be specific, he recognized a certain sophomore whose presence in so many of his classes made Luke a little uncomfortable. "Tear?" he whispered her name, hoping to catch her attention without getting anyone else's. The girl turned her head slightly to face him. Yep, it was her. "Tear, what are you doing here?"

She blinked, unsure of how to answer. "I'm attending my gym class."

"Yeah, but how? I mean, you're smart, so I can understand why the teachers would put you in an advanced math class, but…how can you skip a grade in PE?!?"

"I didn't. PE classes aren't formed by grade here."

"Really?"

She nodded. "The school found it easier to form PE classes by grouping people with similar schedules together rather than people with similar ages, so PE classes have members from all four grades rather than just-"

A man coughed from up front. Tear and Luke turned around to see the teacher examining them with cool seagreen eyes. Unlike most gym teachers, he was wearing pants that did not have elastic in them, and he had on a rather nice shirt with an exotic pattern of yellow diamonds and black stripes. From the way the man held his shoulders back and the pencil-sharp tip that his beard made, Luke could tell that he was the kind of person who valued order, cleanliness, propriety, and other virtues that were near impossible to find in a high school gym class. The only aspect of the man that didn't scream "uptight" was his long grayish brown hair, which he held back with a red hair tie; past the tie, he seemed to have forgotten that he had hair and just let it hang there in a big spiky mass. But most importantly, he had the rare aura around him of a gym teacher who took his job seriously.

"Miss Tear, are you done talking, or should I postpone the class to make time for this stimulating discussion?"

For the second time that day, Luke saw a moment's glimpse behind Tear's composure. "I-I apologize, sir, it-" she stuttered. She closed her eyes, took a quick deep breath and started over. "I was simply explaining our school's scheduling patterns to the new student. I had no intention of interrupting."

"New student?" The teacher shifted his full gaze onto Luke. Luke saw a faint spark of surprise escape from his eyes. "You're not supposed to be here yet."

"I'm not?" Luke fished his schedule out of his shorts and fumbled it open. "R-really? 'Cause my schedule says that I have gym with Mr. Grants this period." Luke felt a cold bead of sweat trickle down his neck. Had he gotten the wrong class? What if he'd been sitting here spacing out while his real class had already started in some gym he hadn't known about? "You are Mr. Grants, right?"

The class snickered. The teacher had the expression of someone who could see he was being tricked, but couldn't decide whether to call Luke out or play along. Evidently he chose the second option. "Yes, I am. And what is your name?" he asked, squinting leerily at Luke's hair.

"…Luke…"

For a second the man looked as if he were about to say something along the lines of "Wrong answer" or "Guess again", but something in Luke's face must have convinced the teacher that he was telling the truth. Mr. Grants shook himself out of his trance and reset his pretense of professional disinterest. "Right, of course it is. Well Luke, welcome to Kimlasca. We'll just be jogging today, so as long as you know how to run, you'll do fine."

Upon hearing that they were going to spend the next 35 minutes running, the class did a collective groan . Luke didn't mind, though. Since running was a one-man sport, Luke wouldn't have to feel guilty for making any teams uneven. Although the teacher's name did bother him a little. It sounded familiar; had he met Mr. Grants before?

As Luke was trying to remember where he had heard the name Grants last, the rest of the class shuffled its way outside. The teacher silently walked up to Luke, who was still sitting on the floor. "Luke, is something wrong?"

"Huh? Oh, uh…no. I was just tying my shoe, that's all," Luke lied. He hastily stood up and made his way towards the door. The teacher joined him.

Although he looked calm, Luke saw his eyes check each corner of the room. For what, Luke had no idea. "Luke, I apologize if I acted a tad strange earlier. You … reminded me of a special student I once had," said Mr. Grants.

"Let me guess. Asch."

Van Grants turned his head to look at Luke. "How did you-" he began. Once he saw the expression on Luke's face, however, his mouth flipped from an inquisitive frown to a wry smirk. "I take it I'm not the first person to make that mistake."

"No, Mr. Grants. You're definitely not the first."

"Interesting. Oh well. Your appearance is probably where the similarities end. Although I might be wrong." He stopped to stare at Luke a second time. "I look forward to seeing your performance in my class," he whispered, whether to himself or to Luke the boy wasn't sure. Luke, however, was just grateful that Mr. Grants had let the subject drop. He opened the door for Luke, and as Luke walked through, he heard the teacher say, "Oh. And Luke? Just call me Van."

The students formed two shaky lines across the street in back of the school. Van gave them directions for their route. They were to go down to 96th street, take a left at Brookwood Lane, circle around the park and then take the street back to the school. After Van's explanation, Luke saw a hand shoot up over the line of heads. "Question! Are you not coming with us?" asked the student before Van could call on him, an action that kind of defeated the point of raising his hand in the first place. Although Luke couldn't see his face, he recognized the boy's voice. So Ginji was in his gym class too.

"I don't see any reason to, do you? You're all almost adults; I trust you know how to cross a street by now without getting run over," asked Van patiently.

"But how do you know that we won't take a shortcut, or leave school early? Not that would, but I'm just saying…" Ginji drawled.

"Well, the way I see it, all of your possessions are in lockers back at the gym. I'm not letting anyone back there for another thirty minutes, so unless you want to spend the rest of the day in those outfits, you're going to have to come back eventually. The nearest shop or food court is ten minutes away on foot, so even if you spend ten minutes lounging around at wherever you people like to spend your time, you'd have to run both ways in order to make it back to the school by the time class is over. As long as you're exercising, I'm doing my job," explained Van. None of the students had a rebuttal to that, so since they had thirty minutes to kill, the silent consensus was that they might as well spend it doing what they were told.

At first, the class moved at full speed as one large block, but as their endurance ran out, the rest of the class trickled off in twos and threes, chatting as they jogged. Luke sped on ahead, letting the rhythm of his tennis shoes pounding the ground lull him into a private and rather badly written musical of self-congratulation. He was just starting on the second act, as well as Brookwood Lane, when a second pair of sneakers intruded as an unwelcome accompaniment.

Luke peeked over his shoulder at his oncoming competitor. It took him a moment, but once Luke looked past the disturbingly colorful shorts (Seriously, who designed these oufits?), he realized that even gangsters had to wear the dreaded P.E. uniform. The loner from lunch ignored Luke as he jogged on ahead, pretending oh-so-coolly that he was simply enjoying the natural thrill of running without anyone telling you to slow down.

Yeah right. Luke quickened his pace and made sure his competitor saw his look. It was the same look that darted between alpha wolves as they circled the fallen stag from the hunt, the one that sometimes escaped from the plastic grins of diplomats as they discussed where the boundary between their two countries would lie, the one that middle-aged motorists gave each other instead of screaming "Oh, you did NOT just take my parking space!". The stranger returned it, and the unspoken race began.

Luke shifted to top speed. No way was he going to lose to someone who had probably never even heard of an ax kick. A civilian had no chance against a red belt. Luke shut his eyes and churned his legs as fast as he could. After a hundred or so yards, Luke reopened his eyes and looked behind him, eager to see how much ground he'd gained. The stranger grinned. He was close enough to step on Luke's heels, as if Luke were still jogging.

After the stranger passed him, he urged his feet to move a little quicker. This guy's gangster status might have cowed the rest of the class into letting the tough guy lead the pack, but Luke wasn't about to be scared into second.

After ten minutes see-sawing between first and second place, Luke's calves were starting to sting. So this guy had been the fastest in the class for a good reason. But Luke wasn't going to give up. Even if he lost (which he wouldn't), Luke promised himself that at the very least he was going to make the guy work like a horse in order to keep the top spot. The two were head to head when the stranger finally spoke. "Your shoe's untied."

Luke nearly tripped over his feet. Afternoon TV specials had been dedicated in teaching him the true meaning of that sentence. He'd heard that bullies enjoyed playing tricks on gullible newcomers like him, but still…couldn't this guy have come up with something a little more creative? Did he really look like the kind of dunce who'd fall for-

If Luke had paid more attention to those cartoons, he might have had the sense to roll onto his side rather than trying to catch his full weight on his hands. His palms scraped against the sidewalk, catching little bits of pavement as they slid. Luckily for his face, the friction from his slide stopped him a few inches a way from getting a serious headache. Unluckily for his hands and knees, the friction also managed to peel off some skin. It was not Luke's shining moment.

Luke stood himself up and assessed the damages. His hands and knees stung, and his uniform would need a couple of trips through the washing machine, but other than that he was fine. He sighed. He'd hoped that his first trip to a school nurse would be for something cool, like a black eye from a fight over a girl or a sprained ankle from being tackled on the football field. Trudging into the office with skinned knees like some second grader who fell from the monkey bars wasn't his idea of macho. Luke looked ahead wondering how much of a lead he'd lost, but the stranger was nowhere to be seen.

Someone tapped his shoulder from behind. Luke turned around and saw the stranger holding up a mud-soaked, loose-laced version of his right shoe. "I think this is yours." Luke looked down at his feet and saw that his right foot was indeed missing a shoe. He couldn't think of anything to say to save his dignity, so he snatched the shoe and muttered a "thanks" instead.

"No problem. It's Luke, right?"

Luke bent down to retie his shoe. "Yeah. And you're that, um,"

"Guy," said the stranger, kindly finishing Luke's sentence for him.

"Yeah, you're that guy. Um, sorry, what was your name again?"

"That is my name." Luke stared. "Supposedly my parents met a really good chef with that name on their first date. When they decided to name me after him, they kind of forgot to take pronouns into consideration. Don't worry, it confuses a lot of people at first."

Seriously, had anyone's parents at this school owned a baby name book when they decided to have kids? "Wow, and I thought my name was annoying."

Guy laughed. "Oh, you mean the whole Fabre bit? Trust me, anyone who really knew Asch would never mistake you for him."

Oh. So Luke had nothing in common with Kimlasca High's heaven-sent redhead except looks. How encouraging. Guy saw Luke's expression and backtracked. "Oh, but I meant that in a good way."

"Like a compliment? Are we talking about the same person? Asch Fabre, everybody's long lost best friend?"

Guy's mouth twitched into a smile, but his eyes were missing the wistful nostalgia that everyone else seemed to catch whenever that magic name was mentioned. "Yeah, he definitely was popular."

Luke puzzled over how being unlike Asch could possibly be a good quality. Van's mention of his 'special' student echoed in his mind, and Luke let himself grow excited. "Wait, was he bad at gym?"

Guy scoffed. "Are you kidding? He got his black belt in sixth grade. He was the school's martial arts champion. He's the reason we still have gym."

"Oh. Was he bad at English then? Or history maybe?"

"No, he had straight A's."

"Then what was he such a screw-up at that makes what you said a compliment?"

"Nothing, he was brilliant at everything," said Guy, rolling his eyes. Luke scowled in confusion: So was Guy insulting him or Asch? Guy saw Luke's face and immediately looked away, embarrassed. "Never mind. Forget I said anything. C'mon, let's just head back to the school." Guy jogged ahead without checking if Luke was following, which he was.

Despite Luke's tumble, he and Guy were the first to return to the school. Van was sitting on a lawn chair reading Martial Arts Monthly when they crossed the "finish line". He looked up from his magazine and grinned. "Well, well. Guy, it appears that you might have some decent competition this year," he said, studying Luke with a newly appreciative eye.

Guy shrugged and muttered an indifferent "maybe". But his smile showed that he was also glad to have someone to make gym class interesting. Van told them to hit the showers early and returned to his magazine.

As Luke followed Guy back inside, he couldn't quite decide if he'd just made a new friend or a rival. On one hand, he was a dangerous gangster as well as Luke's competition for the top spot in gym. On the other hand, he'd waited for Luke to make sure he was okay. Plus, Ginji probably wasn't the best person to glean gossip from. If nothing else, he promised not to compare Luke to Asch, who was another mystery altogether.

* * *

P.S. Martial Arts Monthly is not a real publication. Unless of course it is real, and I've just never heard of it.

P.S.S. In the first chapter I used Mrs. instead of Ms. for Susanne Fabre. In the next chapter we'll see that she's actually divorced. If the typo is keeping anyone awake at night, I'll change it, but otherwise just pretend I wrote Ms.


	6. Chit Chat

Hey, I'm back. Sorry I took so long to post, I've been _very_ busy. But luckily now I have free time to update.

Sync's theme song: "We are Godzilla, You are Japan" by Lost Prophets. Sync doesn't come up until the next chapter, but his theme song is the one I'm surest about right now, so I'm putting him here. No, Sync does not destroy the city in the next chapter. I just figured this song would be the type of music he'd listen to.

* * *

Susanne Fabre pelted her son with questions as soon as he stepped in the limo. Thankfully they were all typical Mom questions, so Luke's brain could have a rest as he fed her "Yes Mom" and "No Mom"s. Better yet, as Ramdas maneuvered the limo out of the pick-up lane, Susanne was much too busy inventing new questions to notice the band-aids on Luke's hands. Another mother meltdown avoided.

Luke's mother was just creeping into the topic of girls when the tinny theme song of Loveless in London rescued him. Ms. Fabre fished her cell phone from her purse, read the caller ID, and frowned.

"Something wrong?" asked Luke.

Ms. Fabre's tweezed eyebrows formed a fuzzy caterpillar of confusion. "It's your father." That was unexpected. Luke was surprised he even had Mom's number. "Excuse me dear, but it's probably important." Luke's mother faced forward in her seat and poked the talk button. "…Hello….no, no, it's fine, Ramdas is driving …no, we traded it for a newer model about three years ago…the house is fine…yes, I heard. Poor dear. Did he get my card?...Oh, by the way, Luke is-…I wasn't interrupting, Dukie-kins, I just...sorry…"

Luke sighed. His mother was possibly the only single woman in town who still called her ex by his pet name. Luke kicked off his shoes and cracked the window open. The sheer awkwardness of listening in on such a tensely boring conversation made the air inside the limo smell as if he'd just dunked his face inside a bag of moth balls.

"You what?...but when you left you said…I know, but…but…" Luke saw Susanne's reflection peek at his. Satisfied that he wasn't listening too carefully, she finished her question. "But what about our son?"

Luke didn't know why she bothered to say "our". Aldous Fabre hadn't visited him in…ever really, despite the fact that he'd lived in the same city as them up until two years ago. Luke's parents had divorced when he was only two, and his mother had been so distraught after the custody trial that she'd scissored all of the family photos, so Luke couldn't even picture his father's face. When Luke thought of family, the only people in his mind were Mom and Ramdas.

"…all right…well, I guess if you do that it'll be okay, but…I know…yes, goodbye."

"Is everything all right, ma'am?" spoke Ramdas for the first time since the ride started.

"Yes, yes. Aldous has, well, decided to move back into town."

"My sympathies."

"Thank you, Ramdas. But it's okay. We don't need to change our lives on account of him, do we?" she asked, forcing a smile in Luke's direction. She then filled the rest of the drive with as school-related questions as quickly as her brain could clothe them in proper grammar, sometimes not even waiting for Luke to answer before shoving the next one out of her mouth.

Between the time when the garage opened and when the limo rolled to a stop, Luke piled his backpack and shoes into his arms, popped out of the car door, and scurried into the kitchen. By the time Ramdas and Ms. Fabre ambled into the kitchen discussing Mayor Lorelei's new education bill, Luke had already slapped together a honey and peanut butter sandwich. He passed the two with a "see you at dinner" and retreated to his bedroom on the top floor. Not that he meant to be rude, but Luke knew nothing more depressing than his mother pretending to be cheerful. Hopefully by the time dinner rolled around she'd have chatted her way through whatever was bothering her and be her normal self.

* * *

Luke found him by the meeting place slashing through a tribe of level thirteen goblins. Or rather, he saw a patch of crimson hair in a sea otherworldly flesh, and assumed that the tinny sound effects of swords clashing and monsters moaning meant that his battle buddy was winning. Even in a community whose members disguised themselves as time-traveling elves and whose normal operating hours spanned from four in the afternoon to two A.M., showing up late to a quest session was considered terribly rude, not only because it disregarded real-world etiquette, but also because players without partners were particularly prone to ambush.

If it had been anyone else, Luke would still be typing excuses and bullying himself for putting his partner into danger…but since this was Bloody he was dealing with, the goblins would probably need his pity more. Luke sent a quick message to let Bloody know he was at the meeting place and backed up thirty digital feet, out of the range of Bloody's fancy spell arts.

**Bloodygdgnrl**: Where have you been? You're nearly thirty minutes late.

**sacredFlame78**: Srry, the ride home from school took longer than I expected.

**Bloodygdgnrl**: You told me you were homeschooled.

Crud. He knew he'd forgotten to tell somebody about his new school. Mom had made him a list of family and "friends" to mail the good news to. Then again, since his mother completely failed to appreciate the social networking involved in online gaming, and since Luke had never steeled up the courage to ask Bloody's real name, of course his friend wouldn't have been on the list. But still, surely it would have come up in one of their conversations.

While Bloody took his time skewering his prey, Luke explained how his mother had finally agreed to let her baby tough it out in a public school, three years after Luke stopped asking. According to her, it was a good way to broaden his intellectual horizons and find some real friends. Bloody's avatar sheathed his sword and stood steadfast while the remainders of the horde bit their way through his HP, two points at a time. For ninety seconds the conversation box sat sulking on the screen, waiting for the next round of distracted typing.

Ninety seconds of watching a dead conversation bar is like standing through three minutes of awkward silence in the real world. It only happens if somebody shut off their brain before they started talking and says something stupidly offensive, or if the people are the kind of social dunces who lose track of whose turn it is to speak. And Luke was pretty sure it was Bloody's turn. Maybe he was ticked at Luke for standing him up. Or maybe Luke hurt Bloody's feelings when he forgot to tell him about the new school.

Wait, this was Bloody here. Bloody wouldn't get "hurt feelings" just because a battle buddy forgot to mention his new schedule. And if the two of them threw fits every time one of them was late for a battle session, the conversation box would be awfully quiet. No, the real problem was probably the server. Sometimes when a nearby player was casting a complicated spell or cramming a bunch of flashy combo moves together, Luke's computer had what he liked to call "a mental breakdown", shoving all its physics calculations and communication links into the corner as it tried to remember what color fire was. When Luke started questing with Bloody, these happened often enough that Luke memorized a handy command from Destiny Online's troubleshooting guide that calmed his computer down.

Luke's finger was hovering an inch over the OFF button when his screen exploded in a pixilated inferno. Five aaa-I-am-dying screams (as opposed to the aaa-your-sword-has-dealt-critical-damage scream or the aaa-I-am-screaming-because-I-am-a monster scream) trickled out of the speakers, letting Luke know that if he had only bought the $9.95 expansion pack, he could be looking at some awesome graphics of burning goblins instead of this half-sphere of pink that was supposed to represent an explosion. Bloody walked calmly out of the digital pyre.

**sacredFlame78**: U know when u cast the level 40 spells my computer freezes up. :(

**Bloodygdgnrl**: Spells work quicker than swords. And it was taking too long to fight them by myself.

**sacredFlame78**: Srry. I won't be late Friday, promise. We'll just have to bump back our session half an hour, that's all.

**Bloodygdgnrl**: It doesn't matter. I'm not going to be able to log on for the next week or so anyway.

**sacredFlame78**: Y not?

**Bloodygdgnrl**: I'm transferring to an out of state school, so I'm going to be busy packing. Besides, my computer's a desktop, so once it goes in the box I won't be able to use it except in emergencies.

Normally a level 38 and a level 52 wouldn't even speak to each other, much less quest together. The partnership would be totally unbalanced: the level 52 would do all the work and get only half of the treasure. And it's true, sometimes Luke did slow Bloody down (though he liked to think that he pulled enough of his own weight to be useful). Really the only reason the two players had given each other a second glance when they first met was because on a particular day in a particular town, the two had walked into the same weapons shop with the same avatar.

Given that there were millions of combinations of race, body type, clothing, and hairstyle that players could walk around in, the cosmic coincidence of two identical strangers walking into the same store at the same time naturally sparked some interest. The two started talking, found out they had a lot in common, and decided to go on a quest together for company. One thing led to another, and eventually the level 38 and the level 52 became battle buddies.

Unfortunately for Luke, Bloody was his only battle buddy. Why would Luke bother looking for other players to quest with when he had a friend who could get him into the high level dungeons and had the same gaming schedule? But now that Bloody was offline, Luke would be forced to bide his time with the dinky solo-quests for a whole week. Of course, Luke didn't want his friend to know how embarrassingly small his friends list was, so he pretended like Bloody's week off was no big deal.

**sacredFlame78**: A week with no internet. Ouch. Y R you leaving? I thought U went to 1 of those rlly good prep schools.

**Bloodygdgnrl**: I lost my scholarship.

**sacredFlame78**: WHAT??? Y?

**Bloodygdgnrl**: I broke my right arm, so I can't play for them anymore.

**sacredFlame78**: How'd u brk it?

**Bloodygdgnrl**: I pushed a little girl out of the way of a speeding bus.

**sacredFlame78**: Wow! Rlly? Did u get a medal of bravery or smthng for it?

**Bloodygdgnrl**: Yeah, the whole town came to watch the ceremony. No, not really. I broke it in practice. Can't you tell when someone's being sarcastic?

Actually, Luke could not. Not when they were typing anyways. In his defense, talking with friends over the computer didn't give him the same facial expressions and vocal cues that face to face conversations did. And it wasn't as if Luke could watch the person on the other end type with an ironic flourish.

**sacredFlame78**: Oh. Well at least u get a bunch of people to make over u and sign your cast and stuff.

**Bloodygdgnrl**: Like that's a good thing? My mother sent me one of those cheesy singing cards with the baby animals on the front. The cover was bad enough, but when I opened it in the middle of the post office and "You'll Feel Better Soon" starts playing…geez it was embarrassing.

Another thing they had in common: they both lived with only one parent. Bloody lived with his father but was constantly flooded with Christmas cards and birthday gifts and thinking-of-you letters from his mother, while Luke lived Susanne and an empty mail box. Honestly, Luke wouldn't complain about getting a tacky get-well-soon card. At least his dad would be paying attention to him for once. But in Bloody's defense, standing in the middle of a hurried crowd holding a piece of paper that won't stop crooning country wouldn't cheer him up either.

**sacredFlame78**: Moms. Can't live with them, can't live without them.

**Bloodygdgnrl**: It's not that bad. It's just sometimes I think, "Geez, can't you just coddle your own kid and treat me like an adult?"

**sacredFlame78**: U have a brother? What's he like? Does he play Destiny Online too?

**Bloodygdgnrl**: I don't know; I've never met him. I only know he exists because my dad told me about him.

**sacredFlame78**: U never tried to contact your own brother?

**Bloodygdgnrl**: Well, once. When I was about eight, my dad gave me my mom's address. He figured just because the parents had a bad relationship didn't mean the children had to. So I wrote my brother some letters, you know, standard pen pal stuff about favorite colors and "How was your Halloween?" and junk. But he never wrote me back.

**sacredFlame78**: Not once? Wow, that's sad. Srry I brought it up.

**Bloodygdgnrl**: Don't be. I don't care anymore. If he was too self-centered to bother sending a postcard, then he probably grew up to be a real brat. I would probably hate him if I knew him.

**sacredFlame78**: Yeah, sounds like I'd hate him too.

* * *

Author's Notes: I have no idea if Loveless in London is a real show, but it sounds like the kind of sappy soap opera that Luke's mom would watch. Destiny Online is also made up. However, "You'll Feel Better Soon" is a real song by Wojo.

Also, I couldn't find Luke's Father's name, so I gave him one. Ald is supposedly German for old, so Aldous is Old Fabre and Luke is Fabre Jr. Finally, in case the identity of Luke's friend wasn't obvious enough from the conversation, bldygdgnrl is Bloody God General with the vowels taken out.


	7. Nothing's Fair that isn't Free

Hey, I'm back. I'm really sorry it took so long for me to post. Blame Jade. I was going to add his and Aslan's scene to this chapter, but they've been giving me a horrible case of writer's block (For some reason Jade and Aslan make the perfectionist in me go on overdrive. Even writing about the scene is difficult.). I figured I'd made you guys wait long enough, so in the end I decided to split this chapter in two. You guys probably don't want to read a four thousand word chapter anyway (For some reason my chapters keep getting longer and longer...). On the bright side, I'm a few paragraphs away from finishing the scene anyway, so the next chapter will be coming ridiculously soon, possibly tomorrow.

Arietta's theme song is: Who's that Girl. I chose this because although it's well known, it describes her situation in the game perfectly. Arietta is a bit more of a snob here than in the game because I needed some way to translate the drama queen factor of her character. I also made her a tad more annoying than she is in the game, because for this story she needs to be less likable than Anise (and this is just my opinion, but after Mt. Zaleho, I started wishing Arietta was the heroine instead of Anise). But don't worry, Arietta won't turn into a two-dimensional queen bee, and Anise isn't going to grow wings and become a saint.

* * *

"My life is ooovvveeerrrrrrr."

Sync handed five more squares of toilet paper to the bundle of designer clothes quivering on the closed lid of the toilet seat. Arietta snatched them gratefully and dabbed at her weeping mascara while Sync glanced over the gossip carved into the wall, searching for the names of anyone he knew.

"Y-you could pr-pretend to be more sympathetic," the girl muttered.

"Arietta, how many times has your life ended in the last three days?"

"B-but this time it's for reeeaaaal. He's gonna _fail_ me."

Judging from the sheer number of whimpering voices in the other stalls (the number of which were male disturbed Sync to no end), this Professor Curtiss was going to fail his entire chemistry class. "For crying out loud, it's just a test. Get over it."

"B-but it was the first test of the semester, and he gave me a…a…" Sync glimpsed at Arietta in what a stranger might have mistaken for piqued interest, but was actually just nonchalant impatience. "I got a 68," she whispered in the tone of voice one uses to pass on government secrets.

Sync tried to growl in frustration, but seeing as he was a sixteen year old male with below average levels of testosterone, his vocal cords only managed some kind of hybrid between a sigh and a grunt. He should have seen this trap a mile away. When he saw twenty-three students pour out the chemistry lab, surge down the hall and funnel through the door into the girl's restroom, Sync had dared to hope something interesting had finally happened to the school. Maybe a student had gotten burned with some acid and was trying to save her eyes by flooding them out with water. Or maybe an out-of-season tornado was headed straight for the science wing, so the class was hiding in the nearest windowless room. Or maybe…

Sync was curious enough that he allowed a hysterical Arietta to drag him through the portal into the forbidden land of scratchless mirrors and scented tissues (otherwise known as the girl's restroom). Now he was stuck wasting the next half an hour listening to the stupid girl whine about how she didn't get her normal A++ on one measly test.

"You passed, so why does it matter?" he muttered.

"Sync! This could ruin my whole GPA! You need at least a 3.0 in order to be an eligible host for foreign exchange students, and if I don't host, my number of extracurriculars will go down, and if I don't have enough extracurriculars, the colleges will reject my application, and if I don't get a degree, then I can't become a veterinarian, and if I don't become a veterinarian, then all the animals will die!"

Arietta punctuated this sentence by bringing her knees up to her chin and gulping up as much air as her lungs could hold. Huddled there on top of the porcelain with her mouth shaped into a capital "O", she looked disturbingly like a carnival goldfish whose plastic baggie has just ripped.

Unpleasant childhood memories of almost-pets waved their fins at Sync from the back of his head. Lukewarm guilt sweated out from the backs of his ears, and the bathroom stall shrank two sizes. "Geez, get over it. It's not like a single test score was going to change the student council's decision anyway. Just get your GPA back up and apply again next year."

Arietta stopped hyperventilating. A small voice asked, "They decided on the hosts already?"

In a once-in-a-decade flash of clairvoyance, Sync saw that he was going to be standing in this stall for much longer than thirty minutes. "Yeah…you didn't see the notice board?" Obviously she hadn't, but hopefully Arietta would want to check the list for herself, and while she was distracted in the hall, Sync could sneak-

"Who got it?" she asked in a way that sounded a lot more like a command than a question.

"I don't know. I just saw the list out of the corner of my eye while I was walking to Physics. I didn't stop to read it or anything," he muttered. While Sync's mouth talked, his right hand tried to coax the metal lever out of its slot, a difficult task considering the bathroom lock had experienced four years of rust in the last ten minutes. "Look, it's right down the hall. Go see if you got the job. I'll wait here and make sure no one steals the stall." Sync managed to overpower the lock, but the effort caused his shoulder to jerk rather noticeably.

Arietta's high-heeled foot rammed into the door before he could escape. "If you got close enough to tell what the notice was for, then you got close enough to read the names." She was looking at him now, and maybe it was the light, but her eyes looked a couple of shades darker than usual.

"Well, you know the council mostly favors upperclassmen, 'cause they have drivers licenses. About half of them were seniors, and there were a lot of juniors too. There were a couple sophomores, but nobody you'd know."

"Freshmen," she demanded.

"I didn't see any. I think they decided you guys were too young."

"The council has to appoint at least three hosts from each class. That's the rule."

Sync pulled on the door again, but with his arm twisted behind his back he couldn't get the leverage he needed without turning around. He didn't want to go into a full-out struggle, because one ill-timed jerk of the door would snap the heel of Arietta's shoe like a broken bone. Although the demise of one of her precious children would distract Arietta from the host list for a short while, Sync figured that being trapped in a five by three foot stall with a distraught fifteen year old and her dead Prada would be even more unpleasant than the looming fit of hysteria. Right now Sync had no other options left than to waste as many precious seconds as possible and hope against all reason for a surprise fire drill.

"Oh, well, there was Karol. One of the kids in the foreign exchange program was his cousin, so of course he's gotta be a host. It shouldn't count as community service, 'cause the kid was going to be staying at Karol's house no matter what, but from what I hear, his parents are on the PTA board and-"

"And?"

"…And Genis was on there too. They must have counted him as a freshman, even though he skipped a grade. You know him, right? The kid with the weird ears…" Arietta wasn't taking this bait either. Normally she'd snatch any excuse to pull herself up into the stream of ever-changing gossip and rumors, but now she sat still as a dead fish, threatening to drown Sync in her black stare.

"And?" she commanded.

Sync paused to consider making up the third name, but decided against it, since lying would only delay Arietta's meltdown by a few minutes. Better just get it over with. "And…Anise."

Arietta's foot fell to the floor. "Anise…Tatlin?" she asked. Sync nodded. "Anise Tatlin got the job…but I…didn't?" she asked again, just to make sure. Sync nodded a little harder this time to make his meaning clear without having to resort to words.

Her head sagged a few inches. "But…she's a…and she wastes all her time flirting and cheerleading and…she doesn't even..."

If Sync was a social human being, he'd have known that this was the point in the conversation where he should comfort Arietta by cutting Anise's reputation into little bite-sized morsels. He should rant about the corruption in the student council and hint that Anise's application had involved more than just paperwork. He should tell Arietta that she was a much smarter, prettier, more popular candidate than Anise. He should do many things. But Sync was not the kind of person who, when he came upon a goldfish floundering its last minutes on a sidewalk, cradled it in its hands and cooed comforting words at it, or ran around frantically yelling for a glass of water. He was the kind of person who punted the fish into the street and ordered it to start breathing air.

"Yeah, well somehow she got the grades to apply, and for some reason student council chose her," he stated.

"But it's not fair! The only reason she wants to host is because she hopes she'll get a hot guy. I actually need to host," said Arietta, slumping a little. She stared at Sync as if he could change the student council's mind with just a wink and the only thing stopping him from saving her future was his stubborn refusal to acknowledge her pain and suffering.

Sync hunched his shoulders and discreetly used his collar to wipe off the skin behind his ears, blaming Arietta for this hot, itchy sensation he knew he didn't deserve. "Why? You could always just join a club. There are other extra curriculars."

Arietta lost control of her facial expression for a moment and threw Sync a scowl that should have told him to stop ruining her delicious self-pity session with pesky _solutions. _"But…but I need THIS one Sync," she whispered with the intense patience of one who is having trouble understanding her own logic. "If I hosted, all I would have had to do was give my foreign exchange student somewhere to sleep and something to eat, and I wouldn't have lost any studying time. But now I'm going to lose hours wasting my time knitting or making birdhouses or whatever, which means I won't have time to do homework. And if I don't do my homework, I'll get bad grades. And if I get bad grades, I won't pass Physics. And if I don't pass Physics…"

"All right, all right. Whatever. It's your own fault, Arietta. Legretta told you Physics would be hard. You should have just taken Chemistry with the rest of the freshmen and saved Physics for sophomore year."

"But it's NOT my fault!" she shouted, suddenly alive now that her self-image was on the line. " Professor Curtiss didn't tell anyone he was going to test us today, so there's no way I could have studied. And most of the questions were on material we haven't even covered in class yet. You can't penalize someone's academic record because she has a bad teacher! It's not fair!"

"That doesn't matter. It-"

"But it's not fair, Sync! It's not faaaaaaiiiiiiirrrrrr!" she wailed, crumbling down into a pink mewling mess. The sound of her misery leaked into the other stalls and spread like a bad cold on the week of the big test. Then, as if Arietta's moans were some sort of secret signal to coordinate an assault on Sync's eardrums, the rest of the inhabitants of the girl's restroom reached the climax of their emotional meltdowns. The tortured cries of twenty three teenagers exploded into the air, and the urge to add one's own anguish into the cacophony of angst was so contagious that not even Sync was immune. He groaned involuntarily and leaned against the stall door for support while trying to convince his ears that they could not explode without his permission.

After an eternal two minutes the door vibrated against Sync's shoulders. He stood up and turned around. The door shook again, and he realized that a distraction was knocking on the stall door, four minutes too late to save him. Sync closed his eyes and counted backwards from twenty a little faster than his anger management counselor recommended. He then punched the stall door, which flew open to reveal an idiot that Sync knew much better than he would have liked.

Standing there sniffling in the middle of the girl's restroom, shivering in a bunny tee-shirt and cargo pants that were two sizes too big, Florian looked much more like a lost ten-year-old than a full-fledged teenager. He also walked, talked, and thought like someone six years his junior. There were several theories behind this behavior. The girls in Sync's grade attributed it to Florian's being "an absolute sweetheart". The sophomore men figured he was acting cute to make it with the ladies. Sync was irreversibly convinced that some kind of mental retardation was involved. It didn't matter if Florian had made it all the way to high school without being held back. Something was wrong with the kid. But not so wrong that he didn't know not to go into the girl's restroom.

"What the hell, Florian?"

Florian sniffed long and wetly. "Hey, Sync." He peered worriedly around Sync at the blubbering mess in the back of the stall. "Is Arietta okay?"

Sync closed the door on the pink spectacle so that all Florian could see was his face leering out of the crack in the door. "She's fine."

"Really? That's good." Florian sniffed again and rubbed his eyes with a soft fist. "Well, if you guys are almost done, can it maybe be my turn? All the other stalls in here are full."

"Then go to the boy's bathroom, idiot."

Florian leaned in confidingly. "But if I start crying in the boy's bathroom, they'll make fun of me."

"So? If you want the guys to stop teasing you, then stop being such a wuss and start following the rules."

"Rules?"

"Yeah. Real guys don't wear stupid shirts with the rabbits on them. Or latch on to people who don't want them around. Or go into girl's restrooms to cry about a freaking test."

Florian's face fell flat with mild confusion, proving that none of Sync's hints had hit home. "But…you're in here, and you're a guy," said Florian, innocently rebounding the abuse into Sync's ego.

For ten nauseating seconds, neither one moved: Florian because he was waiting patiently for an answer, and Sync because his own insult was quietly burning off whatever dignity he had left in this situation. Unfortunately, Sync's fury, combined with his recent assertion that men did not go into women's bathrooms, forced Florian to draw a conclusion that killed any chance of diffusing Sync's wrath.

Florian's face settled into the unique plastic expression of someone who's just discovered that he didn't know his best friend as well as he thought. "Aren't you?"

The awkwardness of the conversation, which should have muffled the noise around the two boys, instead coaxed the girls to wail louder. Florian shifted his weight from sneaker to sneaker without taking his eyes off the crack in the stall door. Sync took a deep breath and forced himself to reopen the door very slowly.

"You have ten seconds."

Florian grinned as if he'd known all along that he'd get his wish. "Really? Thanks!" He took two eager steps forward and was in the middle of his third when a skinny arm shot in front of his face, barring him entrance to the safe haven. Confused, Florian glanced at his friend and noticed that Sync was shaking with the effort to keep still.

"To run."

* * *

I hope it was worth the wait. Next up are Jade and Aslan. As always, reviewers get cookies!


	8. Better than Science

Two chapters in less than four hours. I told you I was a binge poster. Anyway, this is...well, it was originally supposed to be a few paragraph's worth of humor to explain the events in the last chapter. Now it's...a mini character study? An introduction of two characters? Jade tearing Aslan's sanity to shreds? Who knows? Whatever it is, enjoy it. Jade commands you.

Jade's theme song is "All This Rubbish is True", by The Would Be's. I thought the lyrics fit this situation well. The band itself is also a lot like Jade: it can make a death threat sound like an invitation to tea.

* * *

Jade Curtiss stood outside his classroom, unaware that he was being blamed for the inevitable demise of all things cute and cuddly. He held an old-fashioned cardboard clipboard in his left hand and a thin red pen in his right. He was about an inch into his paperwork when Aslan Frings walked up to him. Aslan stood patiently for a few seconds, waiting for the older teacher to notice him. When that tactic didn't work, he faked a polite cough, but that didn't attract Dr. Curtiss' attention either.

"Dr. Curtiss, did something happen in your class?" Aslan tried. He would have been one of the few people in this school who had managed look Jade Curtiss in the eye, except Dr. Curtiss was apparently too busy to reciprocate eye contact.

"No, not at all. Everything went perfectly smoothly," he answered coolly.

"Are you sure? I was walking from the cafeteria and I heard…" Aslan, unsure of how to describe the cutting insults to Jade Curtiss' character, suddenly lost momentum.

"Heard what?"

"Well, I thought I heard," Aslan corrected himself. Surely if Professor Curtiss could hear the voices, he would have taken action already. But the girl's bathroom was just down the hall; how could he not notice? Perhaps Aslan had misheard. "I thought…"

The chorus of tears and groans grew slightly louder as the door to the girl's restroom opened and young Florian, an enthusiastic boy who always raised his hand in class (whether or not he actually knew the answer), sprinted out. The noise sank to a soft murmur when the door swung shut. Jade Curtiss' eyes left the clipboard for the first time in the conversation.

"In the bathroom..." Aslan continued. Even Jade Curtiss couldn't pretend not to know what he was referring to.

"Oh that. Well, you know how teenagers are. At this age a human's body is simply bursting with all sorts of hormones. But since a human's prefrontal cortex doesn't mature until its mid-twenties, at this age humans have all the emotions but none of the tools to control them. Funny, you'd think humans would have evolved to save the development of emotions for last. That way would be so much more efficient. The way we develop now, teenagers have mental breakdowns at the slightest change of the weather."

The door shot open a second time and another sophomore boy (That was the girl's restroom, right?) sprinted wordlessly down the hall. For some reason this sight made Professor Curtiss grin. "Though however inefficient their emotional outbursts may be, their little dramas can be quite amusing to watch. From a distance, of course."

Aslan let this disturbing comment slide and persisted with his inquiry. "But even though the reaction might be illogical, something must have set the students off like this."

"Oh, well I suppose they're upset about the test I gave them earlier. We had enough time to grade them in class, and it turns out only about fifteen percent of the class passed."

"Fifteen percent?" Aslan asked. He wasn't sure if he was more horrified at the ghastly statistics or his fellow teacher's nonchalance.

"Yes. They did much better than I predicted. I thought I'd have been able to stump ninety percent of them at least. Perhaps I made the fill in the blank section a little too easy…" Dr. Curtiss mused to himself.

Aslan winced involuntarily. He had bad memories of fill in the blank tests. "Sir, are you telling me you designed the test so that your students would fail?"

Jade Curtiss' glasses were tilted in such a way that the light reflected off of the glass rather than passed through it, so Aslan could not see professor's eyes, but the tone of the man's voice suggested that if his eyes were visible, Aslan would see them positively gleaming with amusement at his distress. "But of course. The whole point of a pretest is to discover the extent of a student's knowledge on the subject. If they already know the information, there isn't much point in re-teaching it to them, is there?"

The tension that had been piling up on Aslan's shoulders throughout the conversation slowly dissolved into relief. Of course someone with Dr. Curtiss' credentials would never disrespect school policy so casually, especially not to do something so needlessly cruel as to purposefully fail his own students. Aslan scolded himself for letting himself even consider such a foolish idea. But still…

"If it was just a pretest, why are they so upset?" he said, more to himself than to the man beside him. Perhaps there had been a misunderstanding? "You didn't forget to tell them it wasn't for a grade, did you?" said Aslan, chuckling at the absurdity of the suggestion.

Jade Curtiss twisted his facial features into the embodiment of innocent horror, so outrageously sincere that Aslan couldn't help but doubt it. "You mean pass off a simple evaluation as a major exam?" A smirk broke through the mask to assure the young teacher that he was not imagining the sarcasm. "No, never. Only a sadist would do that."

A tall, gaunt silence limped into the conversation. A long morning of pubescent squabbles had sapped the dramatic tension from every nonexistent bone in its imaginary body. It could barely eek out a couple seconds of acute discomfort, much less the minute of soap opera suspense the conversation needed. But it still had a long day ahead of it, so the rather irresponsible silence simply glared at Aslan and tried to telepathically command him to pretend he believed the professor and just drop the conversation.

Unfortunately, Aslan was the type of person who could not let wrongdoing go, if not unpunished, than at least unquestioned. On the other hand, he couldn't convince himself to start lecturing the older professor on the values of honesty and obedience. Not without proof, anyway. Dr. Curtiss was Malkuth High's only teacher with a PhD in his subject. Despite his eccentricities, he deserved Aslan's respect.

However, just because Dr. Curtiss was a master of his subject didn't mean he knew the best way to teach it. Perhaps the professor simply needed to be reminded of the school's policy on such matters. "Because, sir," he began, reminding himself to speak in the hypothetical conditional tense. "needlessly deceiving students like that would breach protocol concerning the emotional stability of-"

"Ah, protocol." The word slid out of Professor Curtiss' mouth with the same bitter condescension that a thief has for an out-of-order sign on an ATM. "Aslan, you're fairly new to the teaching profession, so let me give you some advice. In this line of work, protocol is simply another word for precedent. A hundred years ago the rules were that if a child misbehaved, you hit them with a wooden measuring implement. Nowadays the public considers such barbarism a crime, but back then teachers who experimented with less boorish means of keeping order were considered unprofessional, even negligent. But though their tactics were unorthodox, they worked, so the school boards threw away the rulers and made their experiments national policy. They thought outside the box, and then their ideas became the box."

"But that's a completely different situation," Aslan countered.

"You can't have improvement without innovation," Professor Curtiss lobbied, mildly irritating Aslan by using his two favorite catch phrases against him.

"But how could you possibly improve the state of our education by lying to your students?"

"Well, IF I were the kind of man who would take those steps, I suppose my motive would be fear. Humans do their best work under pressure. But since pretests have no impact whatsoever on students' grades, they usually give only a half-effort, or worse, do poorly on purpose in an attempt to lower my expectations. IF I were to lie to the students, it would only be to force them to take the test seriously. Then, when the results came back, none of them could pretend that they didn't know the definition of gravity and force me to review third-grade material for the first week and a half of class."

Jade's mocking smirk softened into a self-satisfied grin. "It would be for their own good, you see. Protecting them against the human addiction to sloth."

"I'm sorry, sir, but no matter what the reasons, such teaching methods would still be against protocol and, in my opinion, the interests of the students." Aslan took a deep breath. This next part would be difficult. "And if I saw proof of such activities, then my duty would be to report them."

The humor fell from Jade Curtiss' expression, and without it his face froze into an illegible mask of skin, muscle, and cartilage. His jaw was locked and his eyes were hard, but there was no anger on his face, only mild interest and confusion, as if he'd never heard anyone disagree with him before. "Really."

And for the first time in Aslan's memory, he saw Dr. Curtiss' eyes head on. The irises looked like two slices of mahogany. Normally Aslan wouldn't describe a feature as important as someone's eyes using such an unnatural simile, but he was a teacher, not a writer, and the description fit so well that for half a moment Aslan wondered if that's what they were: two wooden disks Dr. Curtiss had embedded into his cornea in order to hide the fact that he had no color around his pupils. The irises looked wooden not because they were brown, but because they appeared crisply lifeless. In fact, if Aslan had spotted their color in a paint shop, he'd have called it red, almost bloodstained, as if Jade had pushed the disks in too far and had ruptured a blood vessel. Aslan imagined his colleague's brown eyes darkening into a deep red, him walking the halls with the consequences of his bizarre self-experimentation, and no one noticing before now because Jade never looked anyone in the eye…

Aslan was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain eye contact, and not simply because of the morbid haunted house imagery he'd just let ransack his imagination. That one word, neither an argument, a challenge, or an insult, set a spasm of guilt ricocheting through his ribs. Aslan prided himself in his open minded thinking; he was used to subverting convention, not enforcing it. He felt as if he'd somehow betrayed his colleague, a totally ridiculous and baseless fear, since Dr. Curtiss was the one who had compromised their relationship by trying to turn him into…a what? An audience? An accomplice? It didn't matter; Aslan hadn't agreed to help him with anything. He reminded himself that this situation was not a question of the lawful versus the good; it was a struggle between the lawful and particularly unwise.

But that stare…Despite his self-coaching, Aslan could barely keep himself from kneeling to the ground and begging Professor Curtiss's forgiveness for questioning his right to make children cry. Luckily he managed to keep his tongue in check long enough for the school bell to rescue his pride.

The hall quickly filled with names of the latest couples, complaints about the cafeteria's sloppy joes, and a few off-key imitations of the Loveless in London theme song. "Well luckily for you, those truly dedicated to progress don't have time for pandering to the opinions of others, so I doubt you'll have to trouble yourself with a permission slip any time soon," said Dr. Curtiss. He slid his pen into his shirt pocket and pushed open the door to his classroom. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a class to teach."

"Sir! Please, sir!" Unlike Jade and his impenetrable voice, Aslan had to shout to make himself heard through the din. "I know that…such people…would only be trying to help, but such drastic measures aren't necessary. Malkuth High's students have some of the highest standardized test scores in the area, the staff is highly qualified, and we have an extensive foreign exchange program, among other things. This school is perfectly fine just the way it is."

Jade's expression melted into the look of pity a teacher gives his inquisitive student as he is forced to lie and claim that there is no gravity on the moon, because explaining Newton's law of universal gravitation would only confuse the child. "Aslan, do you know what the enemy of good is? I'll give you a hint: it's one word."

The sudden change in topic threw Aslan off guard. He set his abstract faculties to the task of unearthing any hidden meanings behind the bizarre non-sequitur, leaving only his literal-minded memory to answer the question with the most obvious (and thus incorrect) solution: "Evil, sir."

"No. It is enough." And with that, Jade Curtiss shut the door, leaving Aslan out in the hall a head and a half more perplexed than when the conversation began.

* * *

That last bit was a little more serious than I intended. But don't feel bad, Aslan. Everyone fears Jade. As for the readers...well, I hoped you guys liked it, and as always, please review (the longer the better :) ). (Note to self: must invent way to put a smiley face inside parentheses without making it look like it has a double chin.)


	9. The Health Benefits of Fashion

Hey, it's me again. I...well, honestly, I had been semi-planning on dropping this. I'd gotten ridiculously busy, I'd lost most of my inspiration for the story, and hardly anyone was reading, so I figured I could drop it relatively guilt-free. But then I read the review by Daidairo earlier today, and I...I couldn't _not_ finish this chapter after reading that. I'll be honest, I have started another major fic, and this upcoming year is looking obscenely packed. I will...try not to quit?

I wrote the first half of this ages ago, and it took me ages. I wrote the second half in a little over two hours. I hold no guarantees for quality, as this chapter hasn't gone my usual rigorous editing process. I figure you guys waited long enough.

* * *

There are only three types of places where wearing the wrong color shirt can get you killed: the capital city of a caste-structured dystopia, the enemy army's camp, and an inner city high school the day before the big game. If Luke had known that morning that his bodily well-being would depend on his fashion sense, he wouldn't have swiped the first shirt his mother pulled out of the dryer. But as Lady Luck dictated, Luke was not in tune with the forces of the fashion world, and the last load of laundry had been cool colors.

A medium blue sweater floating through a sea of red pullovers and yellow sweatshirts, if one hadn't known him one might have mistaken Luke's indifference to the whispers and glances around him to be the relentless self-assurance of a trendsetter, or in this case the blind hubris of a masochist. As a matter of fact, Luke did not see the snarls of the freshmen or hear the snide remarks about Asch rolling over in his grave, or even realize anything was wrong until after Precalculus, when his partner nearly sprinted out of the room.

"Tear! Hey Tear!" Unfortunately for Tear, Luke managed to catch up to her before she could escape. As such, her only option to prove to the gossip-hungry eyes around her that she was not an accomplice to Luke's fashion rebellion was to make sure that her facial expression looked as painful as she could manage. "Did you get problem seven? I didn't understand it at all. I forget, is pi the wavy line thing or the thing that looks like a fish?" The rush of students around them trickled into the slow current of onlookers the likes of which is usually reserved for particularly graphic car crashes.

Tear, with her military upbringing, had been taught never to be disrespectful to your elders, even if they were idiots. She was also taught to always answer whenever she was spoken to. "Neither. It's a number, not an operator. It's a Greek letter, but actually it stands for the number 3.14," she answered. Luke rewarded her with an uncomprehending stare. "The symbol that looks like a house."

"Oh…so what's the squiggly thing?" Luke asked.

Tear shifted nervously. "That's the equivalency sign. It means the equations are approximately equal, but not quite. Listen, if you don't have any more questions, I really should be going," she answered, turning around and walking towards the language hall.

Luke, once again failing to take a hint, matched her speed and walked alongside her. In all his well-meaning ignorance, he was fortunately not so oblivious as to let Tear's obvious discomfort go unnoticed. Unfortunately, his experience with high school politics was limited to after-school specials, which had given him an unhealthy level of confidence. As such, he assumed that the sharp glares and bristly whispers aimed at the back of his head were due to his choice in conversation partners rather than his attire. Of course, Luke didn't care that Tear was a grade below his. He'd take any friends he could get. So, in an effort to put Tear at ease, Luke decided to try his hand at small talk.

"Geez, all these signs and symbols. It's like learning a new language, huh? Hey, speaking of languages, what are you taking?"

"Abyssinian. Listen, Luke, I'm going to be late if I don't hurry, so-"

"Abyssinian! Cool! That's with professor Martel, right? I heard she's pretty tough. Hey, that's on my way to English. You wanna walk together?" Luke asked, not noticing the fact that they were already doing so.

The murmuring around them quickened. Luke finally noticed just how interested Tear had become in his shirt. "Like it? My mom made it for me."

Tear looked up. Luke tried to give her the least-threatening smile he knew how. "Luke…you do realize-" But Luke never found out what he was supposed to realize, as at that moment he was assaulted by 114 pounds of sunflower yellow fury.

"Luke, what the heck is wrong with you? Do you have a death wish or something?" hissed Noelle as she dragged Luke into a less hostile (i.e. abandoned) corridor.

"No, not particularly," he choked, stumbling beside her. Noelle had him in some sort of one armed head lock, which, though it wasn't designed to inflict pain as such, made it very difficult to walk with any sort of dignity.

"Then why have you been fraternizing with the enemy?" Ginji's voice cried from the lockers. Out of the corner of his eye Luke saw his mop haired friend squirming by the lockers. He looked as if he had just seen Luke kick a puppy.

"Frater-what?"

"Fraternizing. Hanging out. Bonding with," Noelle explained, tightening the choke hold.

Luke heard a perfectly timed gasp from down the hall. "Luke! No, it's not true. It can't be. I'd heard rumors, but…"

Luke, Ginji, and Noelle swiveled their heads in unison to see the class president walking towards them. Ginji straightened himself up into what he probably thought was a natural pose. "N-Natalia! What are you- I mean, not that it matters, you can go anywhere you like, but- I mean-" He looked at Luke and sighed with a seriousness that didn't fit him. "I'm sorry, Madame President. We meant to isolate him for decency's sake, but it seems we didn't make it in time to prevent a bit of a public disturbance. I'm sorry you had to see this."

Natalia stopped five feet away from the display and looked at Luke's shirt in horror. Her voice seemed to melt with dispair. "Luke, how could you?"

Luke squirmed. "How could I what?"

Ginji sauntered over to Luke with a flat look in his eyes. "Yes, how could you, Luke? Betray your friends, your teachers…your school? Despicable!" He said, shaking his head. He stared at Luke for a second or two and then sighed. "Despicable," he said, shaking his head again for good measure. "I assure you Madame President, if Noelle and I had known he was capable of such treachery, we would have never associated with him."

"How could I what? I didn't do anything!" cried Luke. If anyone heard him, they didn't show any sign of it.

Suddenly Ginji's face was at eye level. "What did you tell them? How long have you been meeting? Ginji leaned in and put his face right up against Luke's. "Talk to me Luke. If you confess, I can make things a lot easier on you."

They stood like that for a good three seconds. Luke, bent at the waist, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Ginji, his breath smelling faintly of scrambled eggs, trying to look as hardboiled as his breakfast. Natalia, sniffling softly in the background.

Luke broke the silence. "Okay, seriously guys, can we do this later? I have class, so I kind of don't have time to joke around."

"Aha! He doesn't have TIME, he says. Wants to be SERIOUS, he says. Well, Mr. Luke- IF that is your real name- if you had time to sell our secrets. I think you have time to talk to little old me. But don't worry. I can be serious. I have a way of…making people talk," Ginji said, hiking his knee up. Ginji's sneaker dangled in the air, and Luke noticed that his shoelaces were untied. After a pause that was a little too long to be suspenseful, Ginji kicked Luke in the knee.

"Ow! Hey!"

Ginji grinned. "There's more where that came from. Now confess!"

"To what? I didn't DO anything!"

"Oh please. After your disgusting display in the hall, we have all the witnesses we'll ever need."

"The hall?" With a sudden blooming of self-consciousness, Luke remembered the glares of his fellow students. Apparently inter-class friendships were a bigger deal than the TV specials let on. "Wait. Is this about Tear?"

Ginji's eyes grew a millimeter wider. "Tear? Is that a code name?"

"No. That's her real name."

Luke felt Noelle's bicep flex against his neck. "Wait, you mean you actually-"

"A seductress!" Noelle, Luke, and Ginji looked up to see Natalia, with her manicured nails covering her lips as if they'd let loose a dirty word. "Betraying your school for a woman. How could you, Luke?"

"Yeah, Luke," parroted Ginji. "How could you betray Natalia like that?"

Luke's face heated up like a burnt piece of toast.. "N-no! I didn't- We were just talking, I swear. There was never anything between us! We were just-" he sighed. Judging from the others' faces, his babbling was just making them all the more suspicious. "I'm sorry, Natalia. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"Yes, well, sometimes our actions have consequences we don't foresee." Natalia crossed her arms and pivoted to her left to show Luke that she was ignoring him. Luckily there was a window in the wall, so she was able to look forlornly out onto the school parking lot as well.

Her performance had the desired effect. Technically, Luke only looked like Natalia's old boyfriend, so even if he had been flirting with Tear, this interrogation was completely out of line. Nevertheless, standing bent at the waist listening to the school president call him a traitor, Luke wondered if maybe he had betrayed his friends. How, he couldn't say, but guilt rarely needs a reason to rear its mildly deformed head. Natalia's tears, and the tingling at the end of his nose telling him Noelle's head-lock was too tight, made Luke all the more earnest to convince them that he and Tear were simply friends.

"But we were just talking. Is that really so bad? I mean, I know we're different, but we can still-"

"Sorry, Luke, but this isn't West Side Story," said Noelle. "You have to stick with your own kind here. It's for your own good."

Ginji nodded. "Birds of a feather flock together, or else the farmer has chicken for breakfast."

There was a pause as Luke, Natalia, and Noelle deciphered Ginji's saying. Luke didn't know whether to laugh or cringe, so instead he muttered, "I still don't see why we can't just be friends…"

"Awfully close friends, if she hand-knit you a sweater," Noelle stage-whispered.

"Huh? Oh no, Tear didn't knit me this. My mom did," said Luke.

Ginji blanched. "Your mom's a Malkuth spy?"

Luke shook his head in an effort to loosen Noelle's arm. Maybe if he got some blood flowing to his head, he'd be able to understand this conversation better. "What? No! How did you-What does Malkuth have to do with this?"

Natalia dropped her spurned lover pose and whirled around. "What do you mean, what does Malkuth have to do with this? You're wearing their colors the week of the big game!"

"Yeah, but the match isn't until tomorrow, right? I thought people only wore the colors on the day of the game."

The air in the hall chilled, and the upperclassmen stiffened. "Wear school colors for only one day?" asked Noelle. "But that's…that's like-"

"That's like putting up your Christmas tree on Christmas morning! It's criminal!" cried Ginji.

Natalia saw Luke's confused expression and pouted with presidential concern. "Luke, did your old school not support its teams at all?"

Luke shook his head. "I was home-schooled. I've never even had a home team."

Natalia gasped. "Oh, you poor dear. Then you really didn't know."

"Know what?"

Natalia waved Ginji aside and crouched in front of Luke. Her voice became buttery soft, as if she were explaining addition to a slow-witted child. "You know what team colors are, right?" Luke nodded. "And you know that our colors are red and gold, and Malkuth's are blue and silver." Luke nodded again and looked at Natalia expectantly. "So, when you wear blue, you're supporting Malkuth."

"And hurting us!" chimed Ginji.

Luke looked down at his baby blue shirt. "But…isn't their blue more of a navy?"

Natalia patiently shook her head. "Doesn't matter. Really, you want to stay from all cool colors. Blues, teal-greens, dark purples. Anything that could be mistaken for blue is a threat." She flinched. "Well, maybe not a _threat_, per se. I mean, Malkuth stands no chance against us no matter what you wear. And I guess it's all right to wear jeans and such every now and then. And you can't help it if you have green eyes. But wearing blue the day before a big match is very…it's like…"

"Like spitting on the flag! Like feeding arsenic to baby seals! Like-"

"Thank you, Ginji," said Natalia. "It's very, very bad. Okay, Luke?"

"But…what should I do? I don't have any other clothes."

Like a queen pulling out her scepter, Natalia solemnly unbuttoned her brick-red jacket to reveal a daisy-yellow polo underneath. "You may wear this." She handed the jacket to Luke, who had to reach under Noelle's arm in order to grab it. "Noelle, let go of him, will you? I'm sure he'd like to change as soon as possible."

Luke felt Noelle's arm unwind itself from his neck. Luke felt his spine pop as he stood back up. He "Natalia," Noelle said softly, "are you sure? Ginji can always lend Luke one of his P.E. jerseys."

Natalia shook her head. "We can't have Luke wear a jersey to his first spirit week, can we?" She motioned towards a rusty metal door with a blue stick figure on the front. "Go on, Luke. See if it fits. The bathroom's right there."

Luke walked into the bathroom as quickly as his feet could move. As soon as the door shut, he carefully rolled off his mom's sweater and examined Natalia's jacket. The jacket was the puffy varsity type, with ribbed cuffs and shiny brass buttons. It was starting to fray at the bottom, and the paint on the buttons was chipped. Honestly, Luke was surprised that Natalia would wear something so…worn.

Then he spotted the name scrawled black sharpie on the inside tag. _Asch_. Of course. He must have given Natalia his old jacket before he left. Luke read somewhere that the girlfriends of sports stars liked to wear their boyfriend's jacket, even if it didn't fit, just to show that they supported him. But if this was Asch's old jacket, why did Natalia give it to Luke? Wouldn't Asch be mad if he found it on another guy? True, if Asch was in another city than it was all but impossible that he would know Luke was borrowing it. But if Asch did somehow catch Luke wearing it, he might think that Natalia was replacing him for Luke.

Luke felt a chill crawl up his spine. Natalia wasn't trying to turn Luke into a clone of Asch, was she? Dressing him up in her old boyfriend's clothes, pushing him into Asch's old sports, maybe even calling him Aschie-poo…Luke shook the images out of his mind. No, Natalia was odd, but she wasn't crazy. She realized that Luke and Asch were different people…didn't she?

"Luke," Noelle called through the door. "You all right?"

Luke jolted out of his nightmare. "Yeah. I'm…okay." He slipped his arms through the jacket and buttoned it up as fast as he could. "What should I do with the sweater?"

"Burn it," called Ginji.

Luke rolled up the sweater as tightly as he could and stuffed it into one of the jacket's oversized pockets. As creepy as he felt wearing Asch's old sweater, he couldn't bring himself to insult Natalia by giving it back. He'd wear it for today, and pray no one recognized the number on the back. Then he'd give it back to Natalia tomorrow, and he'd never ever have anything to do with Asch again.

As Luke left the bathroom, Natalia flashed him a smile that rose the hairs on the back of his neck. She said, "It fits you well."

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Well? Was that worth the wait? Sort of? Maybe? If I post another chapter, we'll see a bit more Guy and finally get some explanation about what's the big deal with Asch.


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